


And We Run

by GoatBazaarofFics, protect_him



Series: A Crown of Poppies and Feathers [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Blight, Anders Needs a Hug, Angels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Fauns & Satyrs, Fenris Needs a Hug, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoatBazaarofFics/pseuds/GoatBazaarofFics, https://archiveofourown.org/users/protect_him/pseuds/protect_him
Summary: By order of Rendon Howe, Templars storm the Warden Compound to capture a rare mythical creature, an angel named Anders. He flees from the carnage and escapes to the forest.Fenris, a faun, is an escaped slave. Experimented on and twisted into a warrior by Magister Danarius, he lives in the Amaranthine Forest. One day, he stumbles upon a man with wings.





	1. White Noise

A thousand needles pricked his skin, alighting his nerves on fire. Pain consumed him, not his own, but his friends’. Every slash made by a blade. Every bolt lodged into a shoulder. But he felt more than their pain. Their emotions attacked him too. There was rage and desperation and determination and tinges of fear. And death, he felt death worse of all.

Anders stared at his hands. They trembled under the weight of blood. Sigrun’s blood. The tiny dwarven woman took several arrows meant for him. She threw herself over his cowering form. The explosion of physical agony, the fear of dying, and her happiness, because she would join her Ligion Brothers and Sisters finally. He watched her life flash in her eyes as he desperately tried to heal her wounds. She grabbed his wrists, and breathed her last word.

_“Run.”_

But he couldn’t flee. His legs wouldn’t run. His wings, stained with red, wouldn’t fly. He sat on his knees; the stone floor scraped his skin and tore his dress. He didn’t know what to do. He had never experienced suffering and negative emotions at once. They bombard him relentlessly, and distracted him from the Templar sneaking up on him.

The armored man tossed a noose around Anders’s thin neck and pulled it tight. He pulled and dragged Anders across the floor. Anders kicked, and he clawed at the rope, but it’s no use.  The rope is threaded with a poisonous material that singed his skin and rendered him weak. He left a trail of torn fabric, feathers, and flesh. He tried to scream, but a sudden boot to his chest took the breath out him.

The Templar bent over, quickly tying his hands together. He lifted Anders’s legs, bending him in half. In his terrified state, Anders froze. He knew he should fight, to flee, but he can’t move.  With the same rope, his ankles are bound too. He stood, and admired his work. The winged man, bound with a special rope, woven to prevent magic, was it his mercy. Red-gold locks fan out around his head, and create a halo. His wings are close to his body. With his legs in the air, his robes slipped down.

He cannot see past the helmet to look into his captor’s eyes, but the Templar’s emotions hound his senses. Satisfaction. Malice. Disgust. The undercurrent of arousal. The man seemly forgot the battle around him and removed his gauntlet. He tangled his fingers into the blond hair. Grabbing a clump of hair at the base of Anders’s head, he pulled him upward. He buried his nose into the blonde’s neck, just above the rope. Anders shuddered and  whimpered. He squeezed his eyes shut, and pretended he was somewhere else.

But the overwhelming fury from a familiar presence made his escape into fantasy impossible.

Justice roared and charged into the Templar. He knocked him down with a smack of his shield. The other man fell to the ground, and could not respond quick enough to avoid the blade aimed for his skull.

Anders kept his eyes shut the entire time, and flinched at the sound of smashed bones and cartilage.

He did look when Justice cut the rope off his neck first, his ankles, and finally, his wrists. Dragged upward to sit upright, Anders immediately wrapped his arms around his friend. He clung to him, and ignored the way the Warden armor poked and pricked his bruised skin. The Rivaini man’s beard scratched his cheek, but he just nuzzled closer.

“Sigrun,” he sobbed her name into Justice’s neck.

Strong hands patted his back before they went his shoulders to hold him at arm's’ length. Justice roamed his body, both with his black eyes and hands, for injuries.

“Justice, they—Sigrun,” he couldn’t get the words out.

The warrior stopped. “I know,” his tone was emotionless, but the terrible sadness and anger seeping from him spoke volumes. He swallowed down his feelings for his fallen comrade. “Anders, you need to listen to me carefully,” he said. “You need go down the hall and through the kitchen. There is a back door. It leads to the forest. Hide there. You will be safe. I’ll find you, do not move from that spot unless you absolutely need too. Do you understand?”

“But what if you —” end up like Sigrun? is the unfinished question, but Justice cut off.

“Anders. Do. You. Understand?”

“What if someone needs healing? What about Pounce?” he asked, terrified of leaving his friends and  kitten without someone to take care of them.

“Anders!” Justice snarled and the grip grew tighter. The winged man recoiled, but nodded.

This time, Justice pulled him in a tight hug. “I’ll see you soon, now, go.” He let go and grabbed his weapons. More Templars come into the room. They were led by woman, Rylock. She barked orders to kill Justice and capture Anders. But Justice was a spirit warrior, and called for aid from the other side. He met the group and summoned a blast of energy to attack the Templars.

Anders found the strength in his legs again. He stood and ran down the hall in the room, glancing back at Justice and Sigrun’s form.

His wings dragged behind him  as passed several doors until he reached his destination. He couldn’t sense another’s emotions nor hear the raging battle that plagued the front of the Warden’s compound. The silence was a welcome reprieve, but his mind drifted to his friends and his kitten. He didn’t want to leave them behind. He didn’t. But Justice told him to go.

With a sharp pang, Anders pushed through the door. The sudden brightness of the early afternoon hurt his eyes. He walked outside; the soft grass felt good on his feet, and the wind was amazing on his feathers. He took a steady breath and expanded his wings. But he paused. The prickling sensation returned. He felt another coming after him. Panicking, he pushed off the ground and leaped into the air.

He soared and glided above the ground. The compound grew smaller and smaller by the distance he created. When he was far enough from the earth, far from where someone could spot him, he hovered in the air. The breese hit his face, and dried his tears. His hair whipped around his face. He basked in the light for only second before diving toward the forest.

He was close to his destination when he was hit by an arrow in his left wing.

Anders tried to stay in the air, but the throbbing pain was too much.

As he fell into the forest, a scream was ripped from his throat.


	2. Untethered Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is an escaped faun. He is searching for food when he hears a scream and something falling nearby.

Fenris dug his fingers into the damp earth, his breath coming in short gasps and his heart pounding furiously.

The scream had startled him, a cry of pain from overhead that was nothing like the usual quiet of the forest. Then something had fallen not far ahead of where he now lay. As his initial terror passed, Fenris tucked his legs beneath him, his delicate hooves digging into the soft earth as he stood, tugging one of his horns free when it caught on a branch.

He scratched at the raw skin under his wide heavy collar and ducked down under a low fallen tree that lay at an angle between himself and the fallen creature. He could hear its heavy breathing, though he could not yet see it. 

When he did see it, he tilted his head inquisitively. He knew of people like this—men with wings. Danarius used to have one, but it had been only a child with broken brown wings and had died after only a few months. This man was full grown with white wings, though his wings were dirty and one was trapped beneath his body. Fenris’s ears flicked and he nearly bolted as he heard someone approaching.

Fenris’s head turned and he took a quick step back when he saw movement. A heavyset woman in Templar armor floundered her way out of the underbrush, a bow and sheath of arrows tied onto her back. She didn’t seem to have noticed Fenris yet. He stayed completely still, his dark skin and large doe eyes blending into the speckled forest backdrop.

Templars were the only enemy he knew in this forest. He had killed a few who had already attacked him. Fenris hid from them when he could, but their mabari hounds would catch his scent and would not stop until he was cornered. He’d sustained a few wounds at first when he tried not to hurt the Templars, but now he knew that they wouldn’t leave him free once they saw him. They died, like the gladiators who had fought him when he was still Danarius’s pet. Men, women, and hounds alike he had killed and left, not even touching the bodies to take anything. He needed nothing but food in the forest. Instinctively, he knew that the forest was his home, though he didn’t remember it.

Fenris watched with unblinking eyes the pair in front of him. 

The Templar woman knelt to pick up the edge of a heavy net and threw it over the man, who began to struggle, but his strength was too meager to combat the weighted net. He was securely pinned down by the net, his arms and legs and wings all tangled and bent at wrong angles. He whimpered as the Templar kicked him in his side.

“I’m taking you back,” she said darkly, “and there’s nothing you nor your warden friends can do about it.” She drew her sword and held it hilt down in preparation for knocking the man on his head.

The winged man tried to struggle again, but was clearly too weak.

Giving a short, angry bark that startled the Templar enough to distract her from her blow, Fenris charged her, knocking her to the ground.

Fenris fell on top of her. She attempted to raise her sword, but he slammed her arm against the ground and her fingers loosened, the sword falling uselessly away. She spoke and Fenris smelled the nasty, burnt-smelling magic again. His nostrils flared and he shook his head, wrinkling his nose against the smell as the pale markings etched into his skin flared a blinding blue. Whatever the Templar had tried to use against him had not worked, though. Fenris’s grip remained as strong as ever and he was only more angry now. He lowered his head and butted it against hers, knocking her skull against the ground.

Her legs were flailing, trying to kick him off. The heavy metal slammed against his thin foreleg and his mouth opened in a silent protest of pain as his hooves lashed out, sliding off the metal leg-guards. She had good protection against his attacks, but Fenris had killed other Templars.

He phased his hand through the gauntlet on her wrist and grabbed hold of the bone of her forearm. Her eyes widened and her legs froze as she felt the intrusion. Fenris locked eyes with her and yanked, snapping the bone on one side and pulling the rest out of her arm, splitting the metal of the gauntlet with the blaze of his lyrium-infused markings. The woman howled in pain and flung her other limbs at him, raining blows on his legs and trying to pull her other arm free.

With one hand up in the air, Fenris was slightly off-balance. The Templar realized this and lurched onto her side, throwing Fenris off. Her left arm hung limp, blood already slicking her split gauntlet and dripping onto the ground, but she was angry and flung herself at the faun before he had time to recover. The rough metal of her fisted gauntlet collided with his cheekbone, throwing Fenris back and ripping the skin open. She was sitting in an awkward position, though, trying to get her legs under her and stand up. Fenris was faster, even recovering from her punch.

He only got enough of his legs under him to fling himself at her again, knocking her back. This time, he butted her head even harder and she stopped moving for a moment, gasping for breath.

Fenris thrust his fist through her breastplate and into her chest, then pulled her ribs wide open in a blood-red lily of bone and flesh as he ripped her heart out. The Templar woman gurgled an unearthly moan and expired. Fenris stood, blood dripping from the crimson organ. He glanced at the trapped winged-man, another victim of cruelty like himself, like Varania, and squeezed before dropping the mangled heart onto the dead Templar.

Fenris only paused briefly to kick her legs aside on his way to examine the injured man. From what Fenris could see, he was quite beautiful. He had golden hair and slender limbs. The child that Danarius had taken in had not been unsightly, but this man was glorious.

Fenris pulled at the rope, ripping open enough of it that he could free one of the large wings. He pulled the net back so that he could see the man’s face without obstruction. His eyes were closed, but the lashes were long. He had dark brows and a long, pretty nose that Fenris wanted to stroke. He had soft pink lips, parted in a pained frown. The man was still breathing heavily. Clearly he was hurt. Fenris returned to his work of freeing the man, soon able to pull him entirely free of the net. He was bruised and cut in a few places, but his wing was what worried Fenris the most.

This man appeared to be a gentle creature, yet he had an arrow in his wing. It was from here that most of the blood had come from. It wasn’t all that much blood, but it looked like a lot when smeared over the man’s wings. 

Despite his bad experiences with the Templars, Fenris was not afraid of this beautiful man. He scooped him up in his arms. The man was tall and lanky and his wings hung down where Fenris feared he might step on them, but he was not too heavy for Fenris, trained as he was to be a warrior.

Fenris carried the man to his cave. Gently, he laid the man against one wall, arranging his arms and legs comfortably with his wings spread out behind him. Fenris had a single blanket and pillow that he had stolen from some Templars. He brought these over for the man, propping his head up with the pillow and draping the blanket over his naked body.

Fenris sat, tucking his legs under him, and began to examine the wings. The feathers were soft, but desperately needed care. He could not tell if they had ever been preened, or if it had simply been a very long time and a hard journey. Flying could get them mussed too. Fenris ran his fingers through the feathers, up and down the man’s long wings, assessing them for damage and health. The feathers were in bad shape, but could be corrected with preening. The muscles seemed weak and malnourished, as did the man himself, but they were healthy otherwise with the exception of the single arrow wound.

Fenris tended to this first, extracting the arrow and then using a torn strip from his blanket to bandage it as well as he could.

With this done, Fenris began the long task of preening the man’s wings and cleaning them. The task was calming, a mindless sifting of his fingers through the soft feathers, smoothing them, brushing the vanes so that they resumed their shape and form.

One feather at a time, Fenris worked. It grew dark, but he didn’t really need the light for his task. Occasionally, he would wet his fingers with his tongue to clean some dirt or blood from a feather. He had done this also for the child Danarius had purchased several years ago. When the little boy had arrived, his wings had been in even worse condition. With the threat of punishment, Fenris worked tirelessly to find some way to make the boy presentable. He had learned how to stroke the feathers gently with one finger on each side, re-aligning the small feathery bristles so that they were again smooth.

The feathers he touched now reminded him of that child. Fenris had been ambivalent about it then—another pet, another duty for himself—but now he found the work of preening relaxing. He tucked the feathers back into place where they had been dislocated, smoothing his palm over them to feel for irregularities. It was slow work, but pleasant. Fenris was almost sad to have finished when he gently brushed his fingers over the last feathers of the man’s second wing. 

Tucking the wings gently around the man, Fenris adjusted the blanket over him and brushed back the man’s long, pretty hair. If his master had owned a pet like this, Fenris would have been in charge of guarding him.

Of course, Fenris was no longer owned by Danarius. He was a pet no more than this winged man was a pet, but Fenris was still trained as a warrior. He was stronger and fit, where this winged man was injured. For the first time since discovering his cave, Fenris lay down in the narrow entrance to sleep. Nothing would harm the man if Fenris could help it.


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders wakes up distraught, but makes a new friend for his troubles.

Anders woke to the sound of birds chirping and streams of sunlight. He kept his eyes shut, not wanting to get up. He was stiff and sore in places he didn’t know could be sore. He hurt everywhere. His wing felt like it had been ripped apart. But his magic was slowly mending the wound. There was a heavy blanket covering him, and for that he was grateful, and he burrowed further into the soft fabric. It kept him warm, despite the hard cold ground he laid on.

Wait. Anders was confused. He should be in his large bed in the Warden compound. Not on a stone floor. 

The memories of yesterday hit him. The explosion. The Templars over running the main hall. The Commander leading the charge. Getting separated from Justice. Being corned. Sigrun’s death. Justice telling him to flee. The arrow. Falling. 

He sat up and strangled noise escaped his throat. He choked on his breath. His heart raced. He trembled and covered his mouth to keep his sobs silent. The more he remembered, the more terrified he became. He had been captured again. His friends were in danger or worse. And he was going back to the zoo. Or be sold off someone more terrible than Howe. 

He wrapped his wings around himself and curled into a tiny ball. He buried his face into his legs. He quietly cried, and only because he had learned at an early age captors don’t like loud noises. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but gradually he calmed down. Through his empathy, he sensed another’s presence. They were still, unseen. Their emotions were locked behind iron walls, making them muddled. Faint as they were though, Anders felt sadness, concern, frustration, and understanding. His captor didn’t express the emotions he was used to.

With an air of caution, Anders pulled back his wings to see, not a Templar, but a…actually Anders had no idea what he was looking at. 

The creature before him had a body of a man, but his legs were covered in brown fur and and his feet were hooved. Swirling green tattoos cover his body. The pattern illuminated against his dusky skin. His white hair was long, almost longer than Anders’s. Around his throat was a heavy and silver necklace, which gleamed under the Sun. And he had two horns that curled.

Like a mountain goat’s.

His eyes widen and gasped. “You’re a faun!” he shouted and pointed at the horned creature. 

The faun, startled, fell backward. 

“I’m sorry!” Anders crawled over to the other man, ignoring the pain in his left wing. “I’m sorry I scared you!” He hovered on all fours in front of the faun, his blonde hair falling in the other’s face. 

The faun seeped of irritation. He huffed before pushed himself upright. Anders moved back to give the faun some room. He examined the faun now that he was close up. He had seen fauns before. Back in his old zoo in Radcliffe, there had been a family of three. He never interacted with any of them, despite wanting to. This faun was handsome, he decided. Sharp cheeks, strong jaw, pretty green eyes. And he looked strong. His eyes roamed the faun’s chest and arms. He smirked. Very strong. 

Anders adjusted in his seat so he could sit closer to the faun. He brushed his hair out of his face and tucked a clump behind his ear. He smiled, soft and inviting, “my name is Anders.” He put his hand over his heart and batted his eyes at the pretty faun. 

The faun eyed him warily and scooted away. Anders pouted and scooted forward. “And what is yours?” 

Frustration bubbled up from the faun. He huffed again and his brows furrowed. Anders’s eyes dart from side to side waiting for a response. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked. When he is treated with more disgruntled emotions, he clutched the top of his dress. “Oh no, you can’t! You probably think I’m insulting you, don’t you! I’m not!” He shook his head and held his hands up. “I’m not saying anything mean. I just want to know your name because you’re cute and saved my life!” He paused and slapped his forehead. “What am I talking about? You can’t understand me.”

The faun sighed and rubbed his temples. Anders opened his mouth to speak again, but his rescuer held up a hand to silence him. He tapped at the necklace, to his mouth, and shook his head. He repeated this movement twice and then stopped. 

Anders crossed his arms and pondered what the faun was trying to convey. He wished the other man would speak. 

Unless he couldn’t speak?

 

_ Oh _ .

 

“You’re mute,” he stated, “you can’t talk.”

The faun lips twitched upward. He reached over and patted the angel’s head.  

Offended, Anders slapped the faun’s hand away. “Don’t be mean.” The faun silently chuckled. He couldn’t hold back his grin, but he stopped himself joining his rescuer. He cocked his head to the side and tapped his chin. 

“What am I supposed to call you if you can’t tell me?” An idea popped into his head. He grinned broadly and ignored the suspicious look in the faun’s expression. “I’ll call you Cutie!”

Cutie’s eyes bugged out and his cheeks darken with a blush. But he was embarrassed and uncomfortable by the nickname, Anders decided he would need a new one.

He put a hand the faun’s shoulder, “I guess I will work on what to call you later.” The faun nodded and gestured to his wing. Anders looked at it and winced at remembering the pain. He summoned a ball of light and was about to concentrate on his injury, when a spike of fear attacked him.

The faun scrabbled from to his feet and fled from Anders’s side. He stood near the mouth of the cave. Anders dropped the spell and looked to the faun. “What’s wrong?” He bit his lip. “Is it my magic?” 

The other nodded frantically. Anders stood, or tried too, but rammed his head on the cave’s ceiling. 

He clutched his head and whined. “Shit!” He swore and dropped to the ground. Just as quickly as he left, the faun was next to him again.

Anders gave the faun an apologetic look. “I know you don’t like magic, but,” it was all he said before he washed himself in waves of healing. He took care of the soreness, the budding headache, and his injured wing. The faun didn’t flee this time, but he did inch away from the angel. 

Anders stretched out his wings, careful not to hit the faun. He let them drop, and droop. “Well,” he smiled, but he struggled to keep it from falling, “at least I feel better physically.” He frowned and hugged himself. 

The faun was concerned and his emotions prompted Anders to talk when his voice failed him.  “My friends were attacked yesterday. Because of me,” he explained. “That’s how you found me, right?" the faun nodded, "I was trying to flee, but I was caught.” He took a deep breath because the next part of the story “One of them,” he choked on the words, “was hurt. She didn’t make it. I don’t know if anyone else didn’t.” He glanced at the faun, who stood over him for a moment before sitting down once more.

Anders twisted the end of his tattered dress, “I don’t really have nowhere else to go,” he searched for the green eyes. “Could I stay with you? For a while at least?”

The faun didn’t think on his answer.He nodded his head and reassuringly patted Anders’s back. 

Anders clapped his hands before throwing his arms around the faun, pulling his new friend into a hug. 


	4. Nesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The faun and the angel begin the dance of getting to know each other.
> 
> Beta read and edited by @GoatBazaarofFics!

Fenris watched Anders as he took in his surroundings, looking around at Fenris’s cave. The cave was very sparse, there was almost nothing in it but the pillow and blanket that Fenris had stolen from Templars and a small stockpile of nuts that had been piled in a large curved piece of bark.

The angel continued to talk about where he had come from and this man named Justice, something about wardens and fighting and a woman named Sigrun.

Fenris went to his stockpile of nuts and scooped up a handful, offering it to Anders.

“Oh!” Anders looked surprised. “I guess I am kind of hungry.”

He munched on them contentedly, following Fenris back to the mouth of the cave. Anders launched into a story about how he used to only eat bread crumbs at the Zoo. It did not sound like a pleasant place, and Anders sounded like the memory was a bit painful for him.

Fenris held up a hand to tell Anders to stop, then pointed at himself and out into the forest.

“Why can’t I go out there with you?” Anders asked. “My wing is all better, see? I healed myself.” He demonstrated with a flap of his wing that nearly bowled Fenris over. The faun waved both hands to tell Anders not to come with him.

He made the motion of drawing back a bow and then touched Anders’ wing where it had been injured. He pointed out into the forest and drew the bow again.

“Templars? Like the one that shot me?” Anders asked.

Fenris nodded.

“It’s okay, I can fly away,” Anders said. Fenris rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Enough arguing.” Anders walked past the faun out of the cave. “I’m coming with you. I want to stretch my wings anyway.”

Fenris trotted after him, grabbing his wrist and pulling Anders behind himself. They were a funny pair, with the shorter faun insisting on walking in front of Anders, who was taller and would be considered the type of creature who would take the lead.

“Where are we going?” Anders asked, forgetting for a moment that his companion couldn’t speak. When Fenris didn’t respond, Anders continued.

“This reminds me of when I first met the Wardens, …” Anders continued to talk and Fenris wondered whether perhaps he had eaten too much. Perhaps the nuts made him talkative. He stopped short, looking around him. Anders bumped into him.

“Even walking was an interesting experience there,” he continued, as if he hadn’t even stopped. “If I wasn’t tripping over cracks in the floor or bumping my knees on things, I was getting my wings caught in doorways and hitting my head. It’s a good thing I’m a healer, because all those bumps and bruises add up after a while!”

Fenris had picked a handful of berries in the time it took for Anders to finish his train of thought. Fenris offered the berries to his companion.

“Oh, thank you!” Anders said, letting the faun drop them into his cupped hands. “Aren’t you going to eat any?” The faun hadn’t eaten anything yet.

Fenris pointed further into the forest and mimicked picking berries, pointing at both Anders and himself.

“More later, I understand! I can help you pick them,” Anders said brightly, letting the faun lead him further into the forest. Anders had never really been in such a lush and wild forest before. The air was alive with birdsong and motes of sunshine and dust that floated down between soaring tree branches. The faun picked his way carefully through the underbrush, holding aside branches and pointing out jutting roots so Anders wouldn’t trip or hurt himself.

Whenever he saw edible berries or nuts, Fenris would pick some, nibbling on a few for himself and handing the rest to Anders, who eagerly ate them.The angel appeared to be quite hungry. When they arrived at their destination, Fenris quickly pointed out the berries that were poisonous, because there were many bushes of this particular kind scattered throughout the area.

Anders tried to puzzle out what the faun was attempting to convey. The faun pointed to some red, round berries and then covered his mouth and shook his head before removing his hand and sticking out his tongue. Wow, he really looked cute when he did that! Anders smiled and reached to pick the berries. The faun slapped his hand. No?

The faun pointed to the berries again and stuck out his tongue.

“Bad berries?” Anders asked. “I can’t eat those berries?”

The faun nodded, then moved to another bush, his dainty legs dancing across the grass. He picked a handful of little round blueberries and handed them to Anders, eagerly closing Anders’ fingers around them.

Anders grinned.

“These berries are good!” He said, and ate one.

The faun nodded and smiled. Anders ate another as he watched the faun move to another bush and pick another handful of berries. He ate a few and then offered the rest to Anders.

“I can pick them too,” Anders said, declining the berries. “You can go ahead and eat those.” Anders’s wings fluttered a bit as he picked up his skirt and darted towards another bush where he saw a flash of color. Oops, those ones were round and red. Bad berries. He moved to another bush. Blue ones! He happily began picking and popping them in his mouth.

Fenris found a blackberry bush. He tried to avoid the thorns but couldn’t help getting some shallow scratches on his arms as he reached to pick the sweet berries. He brought them to Anders.

He held out his hand to show Anders the blackberries. He pointed from the berries to his mouth.

“Those are good berries?” Anders asked, his own hands stained purple with blueberry juice. Then the faun showed Anders his arm, pointing to scratches on it. He pointed from the berries to the scratches.

“What happened!” Anders exclaimed, not realizing at first that the two were connected. He reached to heal the scratches, but the faun jumped back, shaking his head. He pointed to the berries and then to his arm.

“Those berries scratch you?” Anders asked, tilting his head. “Oh, the bush has thorns! I should be careful.”

The faun nodded and offered the berries to Anders. He took one and popped it in his mouth. He would need to look for more of these, Anders decided. They were his favorite now. He was able to find several bushes of them as well, though the faun hadn’t been lying. The thorns were nasty. It was as Anders was just finishing healing his arm after his last fight with a blackberry branch when he saw a shady alcove in the forest, a small clearing that was bright and green, but not lit directly by sunlight. He saw the flash of water from a little stream running along one side of it.

Without hesitating, Anders ran towards it. There were so many good nest materials here! He put his hand out to touch the moss on the trees. His feet were welcomed by a soft mat of grass. Soft, leafy ferns grew abundantly next to the stream. He went for the ferns first, tugging at the biggest, leafiest fronds he could find and stacking them in his arms. There was so much foliage here, he ran happily from plant to plant, taking a few branches from each. He was collecting moss from the trees when he heard footsteps.

Anders whirled, suddenly fearful, only to see the faun, looking just as worried. The faun looked around the retreat and then Anders’ arms, which were now full of leafy greenery and moss.

Anders had found that explaining nesting was either extremely easy, as it had been with Justice, or extremely difficult, as with most of the others. He opted for no explanation for now.

“I need more of this,” he said, holding up the piece of moss he had pulled from the tree. The faun didn’t ask, just helped Anders pull moss from the trees until Anders seemed satisfied.“Are we ready to go back?” Anders asked. The faun nodded and led the way back to the cave. Anders dumped his nesting material by the wall and then the faun added his to the pile, stepping back as Anders knelt and began arranging the items into a nest.

“I will need more materials to make a proper sized nest,” Anders said, “but this is a great start! I’ve never found so much ferns and moss before! In the wardens, Justice helped get me extra blankets and pillows and old bedsheets. It was a very nice nest, and Justice agreed. He liked it. It couldn’t be quite big enough, but it was very comfortable.”

The faun knelt down near the cave entrance, watching with curiosity as Anders carefully arranged his greenery. His face puckered in a thoughtful frown as he placed the ferns in a very particular arrangement, shifting and adjusting them until he was satisfied. He then added the moss, working from one side to the other and tucking the springy green material in beneath the ferns to help soften the nest.

“If you put the moss on top,” he explained to the faun, “it’s more likely to come out and get caught in your hair and wings.”

Even when Anders invited the faun to sleep in the nest with him, though, the faun retreated to a corner at the back of the cave, where he curled up to sleep on the floor. Anders couldn’t understand why, when his nest was big enough for two, and much more comfortable.

“Pleeease?” Anders whined, getting the faun’s attention again. He raised his head to look at Anders, but Anders couldn’t seem to read his expression. His emotions were muddled, but mostly fearful.

Anders slouched in his nest, crossing his arms and sticking his lip out. Why wouldn’t the cute faun join him? He didn’t want to be lonely! He wanted his new friend to sleep in his nest with him. The faun simply lay his head back down with a sigh. Anders knew he couldn’t force him, but he wanted his new friend closer. He wasn’t going to hurt him, so Anders couldn’t understand why the faun would refuse. He reached over the edge of the nest and picked up a handful of little pebbles and discarded nuts.

He sat up and tossed one at the faun. It missed, skittering past him, but the faun opened his eyes again. Anders tossed another and it hit the faun’s leg.

Fenris sat up, frowning with confusion.

Why was the winged man throwing things at him? Another rock bounced off his shoulder and Fenris looked at Anders, who sat pouting in his carefully arranged mess of greenery. He didn’t seriously expect Fenris to want to join him? Being so close to a strange creature screamed danger.

The faun picked up the pebble that had bounced off of him and threw it back at Anders, hitting him in the chest. Anders’ pout only grew more prominent. The faun was being a brat and a tease. He threw the rest of his rocks at the faun and then flung himself down in his nest, turning his back to him.

One more pebble hit Anders’ shoulder before the faun lay down again, now even more confused than before.


	5. Silent Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tries to understand his new friend, but there are barriers they haven't worked around.

“Let me tell you the third time I escaped a zoo, or maybe it was my fifth? Or was it my sixth?” Anders wondered out loud. He and the faun were out picking food again. It had been six days and five nights since the attack at the Warden compound, and still no sign of Justice. Anders was getting antsy. He knew Justice had told him to stay put, but he was never one to listen to authority, even if it was for his own good. But he decided he can stay with this faun. And it seemed like the smart thing to do.

Anders shook his head and grabbed a handful of plums from on top of a tree. He floated down and put them in the basket he had woven for them. The faun had helped him by decorating the basket. He had put tiny red flowers Anders never seen before, in the gaps. The flowers brought a slew of emotions to the faun. Nostalgia, happiness. Depression. They meant more to the faun than Anders knew. And he wish he could know. But the voicelessness was plague between them. Andes knew so little of his new friend, and will never know.

The faun looked up from the bush he was gathering when he heard the soft flutter of feathers. “Do you think we need more fruits? I think we do. Actually,” his eyes drifted to a plump rabbit, “I think we need meat.” He hungrily licked his lips. The bunny, while eating grass, stilled, sat up and sniffed. Anders closed his eyes and fear radiated off the tiny guy. The bunny sensed danger and fled.w

Anders caught a whiff of confusion, mixed in with the lingering tinges of terror. The faun was giving him an odd look, almost saying ‘are you stupid?’ He puckered his lips. “Oy, my idea is a good one. We can’t survive on berries and twigs. I mean, yeah, I used to eat bread crumbs and sometimes an apple, but now that I remember what meat tastes like…” he trailed off. “Oh, forget it. Anyway, where was I?” He snapped his fingers. “Right, I was telling you how I met Karl!”

The faun rolled his eyes and walked to the next bush. “So, there I was, I just escaped my cage. I was sneaking around when I came across a tank! And I met the kindest man I ever met! He was a merman, specifically. Have you ever met a mer?”

His new friend shook his head, his white mane going in different directions.

“Right,” Anders clapped his hands. “A mer is a creature with a human upper body, but a fishtail instead of legs.” The faun made a disgusted noise at the word ‘fish’. “Karl was like you, actually. Being half human and all. And his yellow and green scales glittered like your pretty eyes.” Anders ran his hand up the faun’s muscled arms. “And he was beefy too, and I think you know how much I love beefy men,” he winked.

The faun mouth hung open for a moment, and pulled away. But a smirk appeared on his lips before he returned to picking more berries. Anders giggled and turned a shade of pink, happy that his friend hadn’t completely reject his advances. Even if he didn’t react to them. And it confused Anders. Every human seemed to like him at the zoos. Especially the visitors he had at night.

Why didn’t his faun friend return his flirting? The Warden Commander’s friend, a pretty elf named Zevran, enjoyed his attention and flirted back. Anders hummed in thought. Maybe fauns didn’t know how to flirt? Maybe he had to try harder.

But first, Anders was telling his friend about Karl. Karl now, flirt and maybe something more, later.

“Karl was so sweet. I scared him that night, though. I came over to his tank and scared him half-to-death. He splashed me with his tail! I was totally soaked.” He laughed, light and airy. “But...after he calmed down. We got to talking. We spent hours talking about nothing, and everything. And before I went back to my cage, I shared my first kiss with him.”

He sighed, dreaming of Karl. He leaned against a tree, his hand over heart. Karl had been so sweet to him. So kind and gentle, so unlike the visitors that came to his cage. His mind was in a happy place when the prickles of jealousy began to emanate from his friend.

The faun was aggressively ripping berries from the bush and shoving them into the basket. Anders scowled, unsure why his friend was being so negative. “Anyway,” Anders snapped, changing the subject. “We should go looking for meat. Like a rabbit or a wild boar.”

The faun rolled his eyes again and silently scoffed. He picked up the basket and stomped off in the direction of the cave. His hooves crunched sticks and dry leafs in his rush to leave. Anders huffed. “We can’t hunt if you’re stomping around like a drunk bronto!”

The faun was offended. He gestured toward the cave. If Anders concentrated hard enough, images and words from his friend floated to his mind. The cave was safe and secure. Staying out in the forest could mean danger. Capture. Death. Danarius.

Under the aggressive and broody demeanor, the faun was caring and kind. But scared. Not scared for himself, but scared for Anders. He wanted to keep them both safe.

But Anders knew they needed more to survive than berries and a small amount of vegetation. The faun was a powerhouse now, but his muscles were already drifting away. He would become unhealthy skinny.

“Look, love,” Anders said casually, crossing his arms. The faun blushed and his eyes widen. “You go back to the cave, and I’ll go look for a rabbit or some other animal we can eat. I would suggest deer...but I don’t think you would like that.”

Before the faun could protest, Anders stretched his wings and floated up into the air. He flew over the faun’s head, but not high enough to pass the treetops. The last bit of emotion he felt from the faun was a terrible dread. It was not enough for him to turn around. 


	6. A Dainty Dish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Anders runs off on his own to find some meat for them to eat, Fenris decides that it's too dangerous for the winged man to go alone. But running off without thinking gets the faun in trouble instead.

That Anders creature was rash and putting himself in grave danger, Fenris thought ruefully. He didn’t know what was out there, how many there were, or how ruthless the Templars could be.

He paced for a minute just inside the cave, then glanced at the nest Anders had made. It looked soft and seemed to make the angel happy. Fenris would kill to keep the Templars from taking away Anders’ smile. He shook his head and ran out into the forest.

The winged man had flown up above the trees, much too high for Fenris to see him. Which way had he gone? He paused, his body freezing instantly as he cocked his head to listen. Birds...he could hear the wings of many birds. There! He turned his head in the direction he’d heard it. Large wings, larger than any bird’s, beating the air above the trees. Fenris took off towards the sound, darting under bushes and branches and leaping over fallen logs and rocks. He was able to move very quickly through the forest. Now that he was moving, he could no longer hear Anders, but he continued to run anyway.

After he’d gone quite a distance, he paused, panting faintly, to listen. He realized he must have gone too far, when he didn’t hear the faint pounding of wings. It had been very faint before, and now it was gone. He huffed, wrinkling his nose, and looked around. How could he protect Anders if he couldn’t find him? That man needed a bell.

Fenris took in his surroundings. He’d never come this far in this direction before. The area was quiet, with leaves gently fluttering in the breeze and the occasional rustle of grass in the wind. Fenris bent down to examine the ground. There were footprints, big heavy feet, human feet. Fairly recent footprints passing over older ones. If he had to say, they had been made only hours—

“What do we have here?” A loud, bellowing voice rang out.

Fenris jerked upright and twisted his head to see a huge armored Templar, his face covered with a helmet. His body tensed to leap away, but the man tutted.

“I wouldn’t try to run,” he said. “Laurus! Merk!”

Two more Templars came out of the trees from different angles. One held a harpoon, and the other a pile of rope in his arms. Fenris’s head flipped from one to the other. He thought he could still get away between them. The one with the rope had his hands full, and Fenris was fast. He would be hard to hit with the slow, heavy harpoon.

“Thinking about running?” Fenris pulled back the step he’d been about to take and looked back to the first man, glaring.

He heard movement behind him and whirled his head, only to see the man with the rope flinging it at him. Only the rope was not so bunched and coiled as Fenris had thought, but rather a mesh of rope creating a large net. It was flying at him, dark sinister lines silhouetted against the sunlight. Fenris’s legs moved first, pulling him in the opposite direction instinctively. His head turned last, only to find that the Templar had been approaching him. Then the net fell behind him, the edges of it catching on his horns. Fenris fell back with a thud, his head crashing against the ground as his feet flew out from under him.

Fenris immediately began wriggling, shaking his head violently to rid himself of the net. His legs flailed for purchase on the ground.

“Yer just making it worse,” the Templar growled. Fenris yelped as the man’s foot came down heavy on his leg, pinning it to the earth.

The man with the harpoon came over, chuckling as he looked down on the terrified faun.

“No one’s going to believe we finally caught him,” he said. “What was he doing all the way out here, I wonder?”

“Scavenging, like the little rat he is,” the Templar said, sneering. “Look at that collar. He’s an exotic, that’s for sure. Most of the fauns have moved on, but this one escaped from somewhere and was too senseless to know that he should do the same. Stupid, the lot of them.”

Fenris made another noise of protest, squirming in another attempt to free his horns from the net.

“Hey, shaddup!” The man who had thrown the net now approached, pulling up another edge of the net and throwing it over the faun.

Fenris tried to push it away, but quickly became entangled. He grew fierce, kicking the Templar’s shin with his free leg and snarling.

“That’s not going to help you,” the Templar said as Fenris’s hoof glanced off his armor. “Settle down and come with us calmly.”

Grabbing the net, they pulled Fenris upright, keeping clear of his horns and kicking legs. Fenris tried dropping down out of the net, but it didn’t seem to work. Nothing seemed to work. He landed one good kick to the unprotected side of one man’s knee, after which he received a backhanded slap to the face with a heavy gauntlet. Blood began to drip from cuts on his lip and cheek.

Fenris gave a more wailing cry and wriggled desperately. The net was partially disentangled from his body and Fenris tried to run, panting lightly. But the men knew what they were doing. They jerked the net back and down and Fenris’s tangled horns led the rest of his body as his feet flew out from under him and he flopped right into the men’s waiting hands. Before he could right himself, they grabbed his arms and had his wrists clamped together behind him in a firm knot of rope.

“I was going to get the net off,” the man who had thrown it said, “but it’s a surprisingly good way to lead ‘im.”

The first Templar nodded his featureless helmet and left for a minute to retrieve a pack from behind a tree some distance away. Fenris watched with wide, terrified eyes.

As one of the other men grabbed his collar, the Templar untangled the net looped around Fenris’s horns, replacing it quickly with the rope. He tied it around and between his horns tightly. Fenris could feet an ache at the base from the way the tight knots pulled his horns towards each other. He whined, trying to jerk away, but there was little hope at this point for him.

He thought of Danarius and Hadriana, Varania and the little winged boy who had died. He thought about Anders. The man would never survive out there on his own, waiting for some human who may never come and may never be able to find him. He cried out loudly, hoping that Anders was close enough to hear and flee. Hoping that Anders wouldn’t be naive enough to come towards him instead of run away.

The Templars tied a second rope through the loop in Fenris’s collar. Fenris tried to bite at his fingers, gauntleted or not, but the man behind him pulled on his horns so that his head tipped back. He cried pitifully and jerked in another attempt to get away, but he was secure in their traps now. But Fenris could fight. He narrowed his eyes and relaxed. The man dropped the rope on his collar as he went to pick up his pack.

The man with the harpoon stuck the tip in the ground and leaned on it.

“What are we going to do with it?” He asked. “This thing has gotta be worth a lot to somebody.”

“We’ll find out who he belongs to,” the first Templar said. “And until then...it’s not often we get to indulge in such a dainty dish. I mean, look at those legs and those big eyes. We can charge a little fee and make quite a penny off it in the meantime.”

The Templar’s guard was down. Fenris sagged as if defeated, but he tensed his muscles, preparing for one last fight.

As the man approached, his head still turned towards his companion, Fenris watched, blinking slowly. Waiting for the right moment.

“Since I saw him first,” the Templar said, stooping to pick up the loose end of the rope. “I get first go—”

Fenris sprang, kicking both feet out in front of him, throwing all the coiled power in his thin legs into his kick. The Templar’s helmet split under his hooves and the man jerked like a marionette and then collapsed. Fenris had sacrificed his footing for the kick and had landed on his side. The man behind him had been unprepared and had staggered forward a few steps as Fenris pulled the rope on his horns with him.

“Hey!” The harpoon man shouted and tugged his weapon free of the earth.

Fenris was at a momentary disadvantage, but he was agile. He was able to very quickly get his feet under him and sprang to his feet, turning to face the man holding his horns. He glared, but for only a moment. The man still held the rope and had tightened his grip. He pulled the rope sharply and Fenris fell face forward. Unable to stop himself with the hands that were bound behind him, he landed face first.

Before he could get his feet under him again, Fenris felt a heavy foot on his leg. Unlike before, this time it was meant to hurt. Bone snapped and he screamed as pain shot up his leg, but his scream was cut short by a blow to the back of his head. Fenris’s vision blurred and blotted with black. He shuddered once and his leg gave a single twitch, but he made no further effort to stand.

He heard shuffling and the clink of metal.

“He killed Baerman!” One of the men growled. Fenris grunted weakly at a kick to his side. “Filthy, nasty, disgusting little—”

“What’s that?” The other man shouted and Fenris thought he heard the beat of large, powerful wings. 


	7. Death Impression

Anders lost the rabbit, but he got a deer instead. He flew on top of it while it ate, snapping its neck effortlessly. He committed the act quickly, but yet, the creature’s death left an impression. The sharp pain in its neck appeared in his. He shuddered and waited until the sensation was gone before he hoisted the animal over his shoulder.

He couldn’t wait until he saw the faun’s expression when he brought the deer to the cave. He wasn’t with the Wardens for long, but Commander Mahariel and Nathaniel Howe taught him how to skin and clean an animal. He had done it a few times, and maybe he wasn’t the best at it, but he was positive they would soon be eating deer steaks with the berries the faun picked.

He flapped his wings and picked up a wind current. He flew over the trees, enjoying the cool air against his face and through his hair. He hummed to himself, his eyes closed. His new friend will be so happy to have real food. He was positive a guy like the faun needed more than grass and berries.

When he returned to the cave, he trotted in, happily showing off their dinner. “I’m back, Love!” he shouted, his voice bouncing around the cave. His smile died. The cave was empty. He dumped the deer on the ground. He stepped further into the cave and glanced around. “Uh, friend? Cutie?”

No answer.  
  
He swept over the cave again and spotted the basket the faun used to hold berries and vegetables. It was hung far off the ground away from the insects.

Anders bit on his lip, worry overcoming him. His friend had been here and left to look for him. Dread gnawed at his stomach. He shouldn’t have left the silent faun. He had to go search for his missing friend before something happened to him.

Wrapping the deer in a discarded cloth they found while scavenging, Anders strung the carcass up too. But further away from the cave’s mouth. He did not want to attract wild animals.

He took off. His only hope was they did not miss each other.

  
  
The beat of wings and a strong current of wind pulled Laurus’s attention away from the handsome faun before him.

“What is that?!” Laurus shouted he stumbled away.

A willowy man with massive white wings landed a few paces back. His tattered dress and golden hair whipped around him. His hands were balled into tight fists.

And his amber eyes burned Laurus’s. It was akin to staring into the sun. And yet, knowing he will go blind, he could not avert his gaze.This winged-man was beautiful but deadly.

Merk, however, did not recognize the danger they were in. “Well, well, we finally caught ourselves a pretty birdy,” he swung his harpoon over his shoulder. “Remember me, Anders?”

The bird-man, Anders, didn’t address Merk’s comment. “Get away from him,” he growled in an icy tone that did not mesh well with fiery aura emanating from him.

Merk chuckled. Casually, he walked up to Anders. He was a head shorter compared the winged-man, but what he lacked in height, he made for in weight. He was bulkier in build. This Anders was thin and elegant. Finely crafted to perfection, he was fragile porcelain who needed a delicate touch.

Not the roughness Merk promised. Laurus almost felt bad for the blonde, but the frightening glare made him think there was there was something more to the creature.

Merk reached up and cupped Anders’s cheek. The blonde recoiled from him, shrinking in size. “Ah, what a sweet birdie, you remember me, don’t ya?”

  
  
Anders wrapped his wings himself, hiding from the predatory gaze of the Templar. The desire and arousal rolled off the man. Oh, he remembered the Templar. He remembered being pinned to the floor of his dirty cage by his wings. Every thrust and groan. He didn’t need to read the emotions of the Templar to know what he wanted.

Merk laughed again. “Laurus,” he called over his shoulder to his friend, “this is Anders. Howe’s prized possession after his brat son turned on him.”

Anders locked eyes with the other Templar. Laurus. Fear, confusion...guilt. Shocking emotions from a person who tracked down mythical creatures and forest spirits like him and the faun. And at best, throwing them into a cage to be gaped at by strange mortals.

“Merk, buddy,” Laurus swallowed, “maybe we should let these two go.”

Merk snorted. “Don’t be stupid!” He turned to face his friend.

Anders ignored the argument. His focus traveled to his friend, twisted in a net and unconscious. They were going to abuse and use the sweet faun. He could see it in Merk’s eyes. He had every intention of stealing the faun’s innocence.

And that brought back his fury.

Pushing away the Templars’ emotions and his own memories, Anders took a deep breath and straightened himself out.

“Bearman’s already dead, let’s go!” Laurus pleaded.

“Fuck that,” Merk snapped.

“Shut up.” He demanded, interrupting the petty argument.

Merk spun around, anger etched on his face. “What did you—

He was cut off by Anders grabbing him by the throat and lifting him far off the ground. His eyes widen, and he attempted to kick himself free, but his struggles were fruitless. His harpoon fell with a thud, as he clawed at Anders’s hand.

“I said to shut up,” he snarled. Watching one of the people who hurt him struggle under his grasp was liberating. He squeezed, causing the man to gurgle and kick wilder.

Fear overwhelmed him. Not his own, nor even Laurus’s. Merk was petrified now. No demands, no visions of sex, no smug attitude. He knew he was going to die, and he was scared.

Anders fought his way through the sudden haze of raw terror and snapped Merk’s neck. If there was any light in such a vile monster who forced himself on others, it vanished. And like his harpoon, he made a loud noise when he hit the ground.

The death was satisfying but still caused Anders grief. He stumbled backward, shuddering violently. The pain in his neck flared once more, this time worse than when he killed the deer. He whimpered but held back a sob.

He composed himself as best as he could and faced the other. But was greeted by sight he wasn’t expecting.

Laurus dropped to his knees and prayed to The Maker and Andraste instead of fleeing or attacking. Anders heard his whispered pleas under his breath.

Anders slowly reached for the harpoon. He was still dizzy from Merk’s death and didn’t want to make any sudden movements to trigger the remaining Templar. Once his hand was firmly around the metal base, he snatched the weapon off the ground. Swiftly and silently, he closed the gap between himself and Laurus.

The Templar looked up at him, his brown eyes glittered with tears and sunlight. He looked pathetic. No, he was pathetic.

Anders pitied him.

“I am sorry,” his voice was tight.“But you hurt my friend, and I am not losing any more friends to the Templars.” Laurus closed his eyes and his features grew serene. He simply nodded.

And when Anders plunged the harpoon through the heavy plate of metal, there was an explosion of acceptance.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the fic is named after Within Temptation's song "And We Run." which is a great fenders song


End file.
